It’s the end of the first working week of the new year.

2026.

I often recall those days when I watched a scifi TV show that has 1999 as a distant time that will never arrive. So when 1999 came and went, I often felt like I was already living in some futuristic zone. I also remembered that when I watched that show (I can’t for the life of me, remember what that show was), I imagined being 34 years old and as a teenager in the 80’s, that was unfathomable.

2026.

I am no longer in my 50s’. In the past few days, I had resumed slow runs at lunchtime. I went beyond brisk walking, to try and build up my “VO2 Max” reading. Yes, the woes of having worn a smartwatch that monitors stuff like that and get you hooked on stats that would have meant nothing a few years ago. Those runs, slow as they were, had tested my dicky knees again, as well as my left leg generally. Last night, the left foot felt stiff to the point of being sore and I had to wake up in the middle of the night, to pop something to ease it. This morning as I trudged along Tress and Oreo for our daily walks, I moaned no longer being in my 50s (read: past 60).

2026.

Creaking left leg and other smaller, niggling, physical woes aside, I am in a good place. Tress too. We continue to work from our home and spend most evenings after work at Kiddo and Mic’s hovering around and fussing over the two little angels. We spend weekends too, around this growing family’s activities and priorities.

2026.

Those two little angels straight outa Kambah, provide respite and hope in an otherwise bleak and depressing world. The events in Venezuela, where President Trump ran amok like a bull in a china shop, bore an ominous outlook of an American hegemony that belies the “make America great again” noise. Its overtures on Greenland expands on that and I don’t understand how so many of Trump supporters – Americans and non-Americans alike – can support such wanton bullying. Sure, removing a despotic drug dealing president like Maduro is no bad thing but rarely do ends justify means without sacrificing important and fundamental tenets of neighbourly interactions. Oil, as many cynically called out not two minutes after footage of Caracas exploding was aired, is now openly parlayed, incredibly, as a justifiable rationale. The earlier drug menace that Maduro and his cartel presented was no longer the overarching reason. Even then, Maduro’s drugs surely must be a supply side of the coin and America cannot win this drug war by ridding just this one side. What of the demand side of the equation? What trajectory is America on, that make it such a huge market for drug dealers? What does Trump (and his supporters) think the solution ought to be to rid such demand and make America great again from that perspective?

Nearer home, the massacre at Bondi Beach has finally forced Albanese to agree on a Royal Commission. Sure, ignoring the Jewish community’s call to park Virginia Bell, and perhaps opt for a less “progressive” commissioner is his way of saving face and caving in to huge pressure but still having his last say. However, having such a partisan retired judge as a commissioner will attract unnecessary risks of an exercise that fall short of getting to the truth of how this horrible tragedy came about. Ideology really is a cancer of western liberal democracy.

2026.

Leaving aside deflating news in the papers, this year provides hope for good endeavours. I look forward to building on several fronts. Kambah, SBC, Pronto and the immediate frontiers. I’m sure the Lord has other fields he has in store. I need wisdom and strength, as usual, to see and plough on.

We’re at the coast, in the lovely little town of Ulladulla.

Spending extended time under one roof with Kiddo, Mic and the Kiddies, has been wonderful.

Mic is a photographer. He’s not too shabby…

From this verse (2 Kings 12:15), no accountants, or risk professionals, will be needed in the New Creation set out in the Book of Revelations

A couple of days ago, I listened to a podcast by John Anderson. He was a Deputy PM of Australia when Howard was the PM, and I have been a subscriber of his podcasts for a little while. The one heard two days ago was his chat with Julian Leeser, a Jewish MP that is intelligent, articulate, and comes across as a leader I can respect and admire.

That podcast was made available 1 day before the tragedy that unfolded at Bondi Beach on Sunday (14 Dec 2025). As I listened to it, I was reminded of Michael Gawenda’s book on being a Jew. That book was published on 3 October 2023 – 4 days before Hamas perpetuated its evil acts on 7 October 2023 at Gaza. As I read that book, I wondered why the world hated Jews. Why so called leaders – not just political leaders, but also institutional leaders like in universities and multinational corporations and think tanks and the likes – why do these so called elite groups hate the Jews.

The timing of the podcast and book were uncanny. I was fortunate to consume both soon after those tragic days in history.

Last night, as we were driving home from Kiddo’s, my watch pinged and I took a glance that said a major incident was developing at Bondi Beach in Sydney.

Not long after we got home and settled down, we turned on the TV and soon, programs were interrupted to broadcast live reporting of what had transpired. Like many, we were shocked. I was speechless as I took in what the reporters were relaying. Sadness kicked in and I expected the worst, as footage of 2 gunmen firing from a pedestrian bridge beamed into our family room. I looked up Google map to check the bearing of where that bridge was at Campbell Parade at Bondi Beach, but couldn’t find it. Soon, it emerged that the perpetrators had targeted a Jewish Hanukkah event and had shot at children and families gathered near a pavilion for that event. I said to Tress this was an antisemitic attack.

Soon, that shock and sadness turned into anger. Anger that Australia had allowed antisemitism to simmer for over two years. Anger that crowds were allowed to march and chant antisemitic curses. When the Opera House march happened 2 days after the 7 October event at Gaza, I was distressed. Why has Australia responded this way, where victims of that event are now the subjects of a hate march? Why has sentiments in Australia been one where the victims are being blamed and became, the targets of hate? Why has the Government done nothing to shut down the ensuing protests that continue to victimise the victims of hate?

Later, that Government that failed to manage the hate supported the perpetrators of that hate. It supported recognition of that terrorist group as a legitimate organisation. I was mortified. The anger continued but it felt hopeless.

This morning, as news report that 16 had died at Bondi Beach and that tally could escalate, my distress and anger continue to simmer. I am angry at our own government. It has brought untold misery to many by an unjust and unnecessary act, driven largely by ideology. Ideology – the cancer of modern Australia (and much of western liberal democracy) – is the only reason I can think of to make sense of this mindless trajectory Australia is on.

I actually started wearing my current trainers in Dec last year, but only “logged” it on my Garmin tracking app about 2-3 weeks later. So, it has trekked more than the “1,814.4”km shown. Even then, one year feels a bit short for the shelf-life of a pair that cost me more than pocket change.

It was the same experience with my previous pair.

Do they make it so that they wear out quick, or has granddad status caused me to shuffle more/alter my gait so that they don’t last as long…

It is now a year since Tress and I moved up to the “boring” bush capital. This time last year, we were on the road, from Melbourne to Canberra. The little fella was seated on the back seat with Tress. I had flown in from Canberra earlier that morning for the drive.

Last night, when we were at Kiddo’s we took a walk around the block in her hood. Abby was on her toy tricycle, happily Flinstone-ing her way through the quiet road around a circuit while I carried her sister in my arms. Mic had Milo their dog, and Tress fussed about how fast Abby was going on that souped up little tricycle. Kiddo fussed about Tress fussing. I hummed a few tunes at the little wonder in my arms as she eyed her sister swanning on her unlicensed and unregistered speed machine, sans helmet or any other PPE. It was a warm late arvo and as the six of us strolled around, I took deep breaths of the cool summer’s air and felt contented gratitude.

We got home later that evening and I sat on couch to soak in Australia’s bewildering second Test victory over the Poms at the Gabba. Captain Steve Smith had dived low to take an unbelievable catch off Nesser to dismiss Jacks and break a promising partnership, and the keeper then took an equally impressive catch to dismiss Captain Stokes, the combustible ranga (sorry…) to set Australia up for a very satisfying romp home. Smith then hit a six (after dishing it out to poor Jeffrey Archer aka Jofra the rap artist wannabe) to pocket the winning runs and end a match in 3 days – one more than the last one – and leave the English with a mountain to climb in this Ashes series. This has been a romp of a start for the Aussies, proving all the naysayers wrong. The Aussies had looked poor on paper compared to the Poms but like Brian Clough famously said, these contests aren’t played out on paper.

The summer has well and truly started. I turned on our evaporative cooler earlier last week and it worked a treat. Here’s a toast to a lovely summer…

A year ago from today, I left my physical office to come and live here in the bush capital. It’s been a whole year I’ve worked 100% remote, seated every single workday at my desk in my home office (the back room), “meeting” for work via Teams or Google Meet or Zoom. It took a while but I am very slowly becoming accustomed to it.

Later this week and next week, my office in Melbourne will be having numerous Christmas/year-end functions and parties. I was asked if I wanted to go, but work related travels have never been my thing and flight costs are rather high now, so I declined. The waiting at lounges, transfers to and from airports – the interminable queues and waits always tire me out. In as much as I long to be with my work colleagues in person and see people generally, my aversion to those travel pains often wins. I remain contented, by weighted choice, to reminisce.